THE NOBLE ORGAN-GRINDER.
["Lord Brassey never goes on a cruise, however short, without taking with him a very costly barrel-organ. He plays on it regularly for some time every evening, as he finds it a congenial form of exercise and amusement."—The World.]
Grinder, when serenely grinding
On your yacht the Hundredth Psalm,
Tell me, are you truly finding
In this work congenial charm?
"Music hath" (an old quotation)
"Charms to soothe the savage breast,"
Think how you might lull some nation
Into dilettante rest.
Grinder, gentle-hearted Grinder,
Try the savage who has spurned
Culture, for he might grow kinder,
Soothed by barrel deftly turned.
Matabele Lobengula
(Accent on penultimate)
Might be made by music, you'll a-
gree, a model potentate.
Orpheus like, you might so charm him
That a mere Mashona child's
Hand could easily disarm him
In those equatorial wilds.
He would cease to wear his skimpy
Kilts that leave his legs half bare,
He would soon disband his impi;
Culture then would be his care.
Suits of dittos clothe this whopper;
Patent leather boots be got;
You might lead him—"smash, my topper!"—
Even to a chimney-pot.
He would have a daily paper,
Standard authors sold in parts,
Shops of tailor, hatter, draper,
An Academy of Arts.
He would teach, by plays, the loyal
Folk on marsh or fertile plain,
Opening a Theatre Royal,
Where they've only Reeds and Grain.
And, till death made him a Morgue 'un,
Wagner, Brahms and Greig no doubt
He would doat on—then your organ
Might be ruthlessly chucked out.